


Heart Murmur

by PrincessLunaLover



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Background Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch, Blood Vines | The Crimson | The Egg, Dream is somewhat of a god, Egg Arc, Epic Friendship, Other, Personas not people, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch, References to Smoking, The Egg has a lovely origin I want to go into :), also i just want to add in some more horror of the egg, bad as a badass terrifying demon, fourth wall playing, glattbur and wilbur are also very important plot points, glattbur is actually a very important plot point, inspired by being aware of being caught in a story, main character captain puffy, main character tommyinnit, platonic dream/george, platonic jschlatt/wilbur soot, playing with personas, post-modernist leanings, pov switching, references to drinking, smplive is canon so friends to enemies to friends again arc pog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28873767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessLunaLover/pseuds/PrincessLunaLover
Summary: Glattbur is something that shouldn't exist. And this little glitch in the system suddenly gives everyone in the server the hope that they've been searching for to get free.The characters in the story rebel against the storytellers--the very players of the SMP--themselves.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 7
Kudos: 148





	1. Prologue 1 - Ghostbur

For the most part, not much has changed. 

Ghostbur is a quiet soul, dreamy, with eyes that are glassed and skin the color of ash. He picks at himself occasionally, fingers pulling at the edges of his sleeves, even when there is nothing to touch. He bleeds blue ink, the dye seeping between his fingers, and wherever he touches, he leaves handprints behind.

It's when they're around water that things start to stutter.

Ghostbur doesn't have a heartbeat, and it's when he feels the change within him. Voices that are echoing, whispering to him that push to the forefront, and Ghostbur isn't there anymore, and it's someone else. And they feel different, and they're changed from within. And they're hesitation, and footsteps backwards, and fingers grasping at a right arm, and pain in their chest as their heart goes _thudthudthud_ , when there shouldn't be any heartbeat to begin with.

That's when Ghostbur starts to realize that there's someone else in his head.

It takes a while, to draw him out, because he's quiet and exists mostly in small feelings. The desire to indulge in drink, the desire to smoke, and a strange obsession with fitness that Ghostbur was quite certain he'd never known before. His fingers pass through bottles, and he feels disappointment, disdain curling in his gut, and he bites back the sudden, violent urge to start swearing in anger, and they feel rage beneath their chest, and they're pretty sure that these useless people wouldn't even make good alchohol, anyway. Flatty Patty might have banned the stuff by now, if he weren't so useless and obsessed with the _pig_.

It was those through those thoughts that Ghostbur started to learn about his new roommate.

Nobody would tell Ghostbur much about Schlatt, no matter how hard he asked. He'd determined that Schlatt was probably someone bad, live Alivebur, and that Schlatt liked drinking, and that Schlatt liked cigarettes, and that Schlatt would say strange things that would burst out of Ghostbur in ways he wouldn't expect. Words falling like blue dye, random bouts of laughter, random bouts of rage--and without any commentary from Schlatt, like they'd always been there. 

At first, Ghostbur didn't even realize when he was doing it--when _they_ were doing it. He'd black out, and suddenly come-to, with Phil grabbing him and shaking him. And he'd been scared, because Phil was scared, and he didn't want to stay _GGGhostbur_ forever. It honestly took a lot of prying to get anything out of them all about Schlatt.

From what he'd gathered, not much of it was good.

* * *

His skin swam some, when his new visitor started settling into his mind.

Patches of blue on his yellow sweater, and the barest hint of yellow in his eyes. Pupils that would slit when the bouts of rage took them over, and nubs that developed over his scalp when he brushed his fingers through them. Results of a prolonged merge with another spirit, and considering spirits were hardly more than minds anyway, he guessed he shouldn't be too surprised.

Schlatt woke up a little more, over time.

It was small tethers that reached out to him, feelings that stayed more steadily, rather than intense, rocking fits that sent Ghostbur spiraling into confusion. Touches of annoyance when he saw people they labeled _traitor_ in their thoughts. A hand jerking out to grab for a weapon suddenly, and an intense desire to track down where to find some of the hidden stashes of booze in the anarchist commune. They would jerk upright when closed in small spaces, and they would back away from sudden movements, hand on their chest.

Schlatt still wouldn't talk to Ghostbur, no matter how much the spirit tried to reach out to him. But he was starting to understand a little more, through shared dreams that involved drowning, and pains in their chest.

He at least wished Schlatt would take some responsibility for when they would _bleat_ in fear. That took weeks for Techno to stop laughing at him for.

* * *

Schlatt hated water.

Of all the things that he was certain, that was something he was the most certain about. Ghostbur would take them to the edge, would sit at the shore, and he would find them scooting away, heart racing, and then stuttering to a stop.

It was frustrating, the lasting silence. Almost as much as being stuck as a ghost.

"Alright, Schlatt!" He finally said. "If you're not going to talk, at least let me swim in peace!"

That being said, Ghostbur stuck an arm into the freezing depths, and another _bleat_ of fear ripped from their lungs.

 _And they were together, hand in hand, swimming towards the surface. And Schlatt was kicking,_ _screaming, caught in the depths. The current of the rising ocean in the storm, and he refused to leave_ _the cliffside, clinging to the ladder._ _"Wilbur!" He was a young man, clinging to Wilbur's arm. "I can't swim! We have to get to higher ground!" "_ _No, we can stay in our home! Come on--just stay! We can make it work!"_

Tears were rolling from their cheeks. They never felt so much pain.

They grasped at their heart. A lifetime of brotherhood, thrown away. 

_"You want to know, Loverboy?"_ Their lips moved easily, an odd blend of voices. Nobody moved. Lips curling upward, and Ghostbur knew fear. And Ghostbur knew grief. "I wanted to stay dead. I was at peace."

"You ran away." An answer, aloud. They were finally talking. "You ran away. We deserve closure."

_"We shouldn't be here." Fingers flexed. "We're stuck together, you and I. I was fine. You messed with things."_

They could feel each other. **Angersorrowgriefregret**.

They were a cocktail, ready to burst.

They licked their lips. Tension coiled at the edges. 

_"You know, the problem with you all is that none of you want to ask any questions."_

A cigarette was lifted to their lips, despite the fact that they had no real lungs to smoke from. A swipe of the thumb, and it was flicked to life. The fire dazzled Ghostbur briefly--giving him memories of destructive blazes, of consuming flame--and he swallowed dryly, low in his throat, as Jschlatt stuck it in between their teeth, and sucked.

It burned. Just like the alcohol, when Jschlatt managed to get their hands on some. Ghostbur was quiet, letting his lips be used. Letting the poison fill his lungs, just to get a little bit more time with someone in his head besides himself.

He was supposed to be happy. Everything was supposed to be happy. It felt like drowning, every time something else bubbled up in his lungs. Anger wasn’t supposed to exist, and neither was sorrow. It just wasn’t supposed to be around, and he didn’t understand either of them. Anger, whenever Jschlatt was quiet, or whenever he was alone, would quickly fizzle and be replaced with joy as soon as the other would return. 

He couldn’t even remember why he had been mad at Jschlatt before. Why he’d forced the visitor in his mind to push his hand into the water, when he’d been afraid of it. It was silly. It was so, so silly. 

He just wanted his friends to be happy, didn’t he?

It wasn’t like he had very many of those left, at this point. Not when he was so alone. Not when friend was dead. Not when the only thing he had left was the ghost riding in his mind, making him smoke and drink and telling him what to do.

Their body lurched forward, to cough. The hacking wracked their lungs, even if there shouldn’t be anything to burn. Blue dye oozed from between their lips, and a hand lifted to swipe some of it away, and eyes flicked down to squint in a brief moment of confusion and disgust as the dye was flicked away, spattering somewhere in the trees.

“It’s blue.” Ghostbur supplied helpfully, lifting their hand back to raise it before their eyes, summoning a little bit of the material between their fingers. “It starts out as clear, actually, but whenever my friends are feeling sad, I give them some of the dye I can make. It absorbs all of the sadness, and turns blue.”

“ _You’re a fucking idiot, Wilbur.”_

“I’m not Wilbur, I’m Ghostbur. Wilbur was a bad man, and a lot of people didn’t like him. He hurt everybody, and he made me. That makes him a bad man.”

_“Right. Whatever.”_

A ring of smoke left their lips, and the cigarette was pushed into the dirt. Ghostbur was quiet, listening to the silence while his hand was guided to place the lighter back into his pocket, and their elbows rested on their knees, and Ghostbur’s eyes strayed towards the Northern Lights.

 _“You know, you still didn’t ask me any questions. Do you just not have any kind of curiosity at all?”_ Jschlatt continued, gazing up at the sky above the Antarctic Anarchist Commune. _“Nobody does here. You all just follow the rules, and play the game the way he makes you. I played the game, too. Until I decided I was done.”_

“...Okay. I’ll ask. What are you talking about, Schlatt?”

He wasn’t really interested, because he honestly had no idea what Schlatt was talking about, but Schlatt seemed to want to talk to him for once, and he guessed he wouldn’t turn the other down from that. It was better than sitting out here in the cold, alone.

 _“...man, I wish we had a fucking drink right now.”_ The other sighed with his lips, before continuing. _“Do you remember anything at all, Loverboy? Anything before becoming that weirdo in my head?”_

“No, I’m not Alivebur, like I keep saying. I’m Ghostbur. I….kind of just start existing like this, I guess? This is who I am.”

_“...huh.”_

Jschlatt was quiet for a moment, and Ghostbur sensed an odd feeling of confusion drifting through him, completely foreign to his own emotions, coming from Jschlatt. There was also a feeling distinctly _blue_ that he couldn’t place, one that fizzled-out before he was even able to properly understand it.

_“I guess what I’m saying is...doesn’t it seem odd to you, the way things work here? The way people live, the existence we have. Something doesn’t seem right about it. Don’t you wonder what Primes are? What_ **_canon_ ** _is? People keep talking about lives, and when things don’t happen right, they all just forget.”_

“Primes?” Ghostbur vaguely remembered hearing the word before, on the Prime Path, the first path to be created on the SMP. It led to the Church of Prime, where the water of the church was used to call peace between battles. That was about all that Ghostbur knew about it. “That means the first. It was the first path, and the first church. That’s what the primes are.”

_“Then why do people ask for them? What do people mean by asking for Twitch Primes? Those are the questions nobody asks.”_

Ghostbur furrowed their brows together, and he felt one of the long, floppy ears that they had developed twitching. He pushed his fingers back, catching one of the ram ears, and pushing it behind their shoulder. The weight of the new ram horns was quite heavy on their shared head, actually, and it kind of hurt to hold their head up for long.

_“That’s another one, isn’t it?”_

“What?”

_“You never had ram horns. Neither did I. I also never had ram ears before this. What are hybrids, anyway? Don’t you ever wonder about that? Where those ideas even came from?”_

Ghostbur was quiet for another moment, in thought. It was like....diving into a pool. At first, everything was strange, and confusing. But when he started thinking about things, more things started to be uncovered. Conversations that were long, and winding, and made no sense. Almost as if there was some kind of third person out there, directing him. Directing them. Moving his lips, even without Jschlatt. 

“Where...did you think about these things?” He asked, licking their lips. He could then feel their lips curling into a little smile.

_“When I was dead.”_

“When….you were dead? Did you see that other person there? That one who was there, with you?”

 _“Yes. We had a lot to talk about.”_ Another cigarette was taken out of the box in their pocket, and lit. He puffed on the cigarette again, twice, and another smoke ring drifted into the sky. _“Things that happen here aren’t what happens in other places. Things that happen here aren’t in the rest of the world. This world is a closed bubble, Loverboy. This place is surrounded on all sides, even when we die. We both ended-up here when we failed. When we both died the first time. We were caught by that thing that found us. Don’t you wonder why this place is called the Dream SMP? Dream, Survival Multiplayer. Some kind of game. Some kind of story, where there are heroes, and villains, and main characters, and a script for everyone. And I’m the only one who saw it. I’m the only one who asked why.”_

Ghostbur was struck silent for a moment, before he started laughing. The sound was wild, and a little bit edged, and floating up from the deepest parts of his lungs to the open, pixelated sky.

“That’s a funny joke, Schlatt! You really sounded serious, there! Okay--all of that aside, don’t you think that we should get back to Techno’s house? He said that we could live in that boat with his friends. Or we can go live on that cow farm nearby.”

_“Ghostbur. How old is Techno?”_

“Uh...21, I think. He said his birthday is soon.”

_“Phil is 32. You’re 24. Phil would have had to raise you when he was 8.”_

Ghostbur was quiet for a moment. “Okay...maybe I remembered some of the ages wrong.”

_“Why don’t we go on an adventure together, you and I? I want to go make some friends with you, out in the Badlands. We have a new villain, this time around. The Server here gave me a few hints about where to find my book. Where to find the Script.”_

Their body stood up, brushing themselves off. He had a tail, this time around. Soft, and poking out the back of their jeans.

“Wait, really?” Ghostbur asked. “You want to make some friends with me?”

 _“Yeah. Yeah, Loverboy.”_ His voice was a little exasperated, a little tired. _“We used to be friends, once. I’ll get everyone out of this place. I’ll get everyone freedom.”_

Another moment passed.

“Schlatt, what did you mean when you said we died?”

That, however, made Jschlatt go silent, leaving Ghostbur to head back to the Commune alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the prologues. Please leave feedback, I would greatly appreciate it.


	2. Prologue 2 - Puffy

_ It is generally assumed that, when one is chosen to be a hero, it is a sort of title that will follow them for life. _

_ When people conceive of a hero, they concieve of someone who is long-lasting, whose journey will reach the entirety of their life. The Fool at the beginning of the Major Arcana, just beginning his journey, who crosses the threshold, who dives into the belly of the beast, who returns to normalcy only when they are old and aged. It is assumed that children will grow old when they have reached triumph, and that a hero is someone who is once in a generation, that there will be a single chosen, and nothing more. _

_ And yet, we are all the heroes of our own stories, aren't we? And in the absence of other heroes, who have long since retired and returned home, won't there be a need for the unchosen, those who missed their calling, and rise in an era past their prime? _

_ What of the heroes who have fallen, leaving nobody behind? What of Thesus, who never comes home? _

_ Maybe there is a reason that we have a term for the "un-chosen." _

* * *

Captain Puffy was quite exhausted, after the last stand they had against Dream. It was probably the most terrifying thing they’d ever experienced--and she wasn’t even a part of the final engagement. She’d been part of the crew leading up to it. Part of the group that dragged Dream across the entire country, holding him under his arms, while he fought and twisted and  _ snapped  _ at her with teeth she was aware of, yet couldn’t see at the same time.

Even just being in contact with Dream was terrifying.

She wasn’t a part of the Dreamon Hunters, even if she’d been asked, and even if they were starting to show-up more, day after day. Shadowy creatures that looked at the countrymen with faces that weren’t quite right, eyes glowing in the dark. Things that invaded the mind, standing at the foot of her bed, reaching out with hands as long as an Endermen, reaching for  _ her _ .

She had no idea who they were, or where’d they come from. All that she knew was that those things haunted her in her sleep, since she’d come to the country in the first place.

And, of course, it was an unspoken secret that they’d all come from Dream.

Dream was somewhat of an enigma himself--something who’d been here from the time that the country had been founded, and the person whose name was placed on the land itself. He seemed to appear as he wanted to--vanishing and showing-up wherever he pleased. 

To most people, he appeared like a drawing of some kind. The outline of a person, with the face smudged-out, erased at the features. Someone who appeared as a kind of hazy green outline, something you could catch out of the corner of your eye, but not quite remember. 

The only way people could really seem to depict him in their memories was with a kind of smiley face. 

It was hard work, getting him behind bars, and the more they worked around him, the more exhausted she grew. She figured it was just the presence of the man in general, along with the work of keeping a hold of him, even surrounded by people as he was. Just being near the man made her head pound, with the kind of presence that he had. She felt like her mind was going fuzzy in the prison, but when remembering the shit that he’d done to Tubbo and Tommy, she was able to keep a hold of herself, and hold him down.

Quite frankly, she was looking forward to being able to rest, when, in her home in the Badlands, she received a knock at her door, just as she was beginning to slip off her (dulled) red coat.

“Come in!”

“Hi, Puffy! I hope you don’t mind me coming over to visit--I just wanted to see how you were doing!”

The door opened, and Puffy slowly sat back down, seeing that it was Badboyhalo standing at the entrance of her living room, seemingly absorbed by watching a stray cat outside playing with a bumblebee. Immediately scooping-up the small creature into his arms, Badboyhalo walked back into her house, sitting himself down on a wooden chair, beginning to mess with the small animal that batted at his sleeves, content in his arms.

It was cute, Puffy guessed, but that was kind of the way that Bad always was. The man was hopelessly endearing at the best of times, and more like an annoying, younger brother at the worst. She felt herself beginning to settle into her chair again, eyes only flickering briefly to her kitchen counter, where a pot of tea was beginning to brew.

“Yeah. I’m doing fine. How’s Skeppy? I heard you had a little bit of trouble with the Church Prime water. Is he still Red Skeppy?”

Bad’s face crumbled some, and he bit his lower lip between one of his shadowed-out fangs. “Yeah, but we’re still working on it. We thought about keeping him in obsidian around the water, but with how much it was messing him up, I didn’t want to risk it any further. Right now he’s just staying at our mansion, resting. I’m bringing him food and water, but he hasn’t woken up much, lately. He still does, sometimes, but it’s mostly just having to chase him back down to keep him away from….y’know. The Egg.”

Puffy sighed some, and brought her fingers through her thick wool. Honestly, Bad and Skeppy didn’t deserve this, but they were doing all that they could. Yeah, Bad had been a bit….weird about the whole situation, but they’d figured it was because of the effects of the Egg. It influenced people around them, and even Puffy herself had fallen sway a few times, before washing herself off at the Prime water in the church.

“Yeah. You know, Bad, I think we might just have to give him time. You can’t force these kinds of things. We don’t know how much damage it’s done to him. You might just be better off letting him sit this one out, you know? Recovery takes time.”

“I know, I just miss him, that’s all.” Bad’s voice was small, and he seemed to almost curl in on himself, tail flipped upwards like a cat who’s been scolded. Puffy smiled, reaching over, and patting the demon’s hand.

“If anyone would be able to tell if something has gone wrong, it would be you, Bad. You know him better than anyone.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Bad offered her a small smile, outlined in white, and Puffy decided that the best thing to help an aching heart would be tea. So, she set off to get some, while Bad went back to playing with the cat on his lap.

Her headache, however, was getting worse.

As she poured the tea, she could feel the white noise in the back of her head, and she was pretty sure she was going to have to call it an early night here, with the pressure building behind the bridge of her nose. It felt like something was pounding against her temples in a steady beat. She set aside one mug for Bad--a blue one, just so he’d feel a little better--while she poured herself some tea in the red one, and started to mix in a little sugar, and honey from their fresh farms.

“I haven’t seen Ponk in a while, actually.” Bad said, spoon clinking against the rim of the blue cup. “I know he’s always out doing his experiments, and maybe that might have something to do with the amount of cats outside, lately. But I’m starting to get a little worried, you know?”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.” When she was finished stirring, the tea was a dark color, like the color of blood. She added a bit more sugar, to lighten the flavor. Bad drank it straight, and she figured the heat didn’t bother him--being a demon, and all. “He might have just forgotten to come outside, though. He’s not really the social type. He might even be adding to the cat population, just to see what happens.”

“Not that I’m complaining, or anything! I love the kitty-cats.” Bad added, running his claws through the cat’s fur. It was like watching a large, demonic cat pet a smaller one. Puffy absently wondered if they were related in some way. Maybe that was why Creepers were scared of cats?

“Speaking of cats, how is Antfrost doing?”

“Ant?” Bad perked some at the mention of his friend. “He’s been visiting a lot, when he wasn’t working in the prison, with Sam. He gets what it was like, you know? With it in your head, telling you things. Losing someone to it.”

Again, Bad seems to wilt at the edges, and Puffy sighed at the subject, patting Bad’s hand a second time. It was probably a poor topic to pursue, anyway, but she was probably not going to get anywhere by ignoring it any further. Besides, it wasn’t just her head getting sore anymore. There was intense pressure behind her eyes, now, and tension in her shoulders, and at the back of her neck. Her tongue felt loosened, some, by the ache in her jaw.

“Bad, are you sure you’re doing okay?”

Bad squirmed in his seat for a few minutes, and sighed.

“Listen, Puffy...I’m worried. I caught Tommy and Tubbo in the Egg’s chamber a few days ago, without Hazmat suits. I was thinking that they might be...I don’t know. They didn’t wash it off, so they might be infected. I want to be sure. They’re just kids. I don’t want them to get hurt. Especially Tommy, he’s already been through so much. Can you...I don’t know. Can you go out and look for them for me?”

Puffy’s heart squeezed, painfully tight in her chest. Immediately, the words jumped to her, without her even needing to think about it.

“Alright. I’ll go get them. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Thanks.” Bad gave her a little smile. “I knew I could count on you, Puffy.”

“No need to worry.” Puffy flexed one arm for him. “I’m just the knight you need.”

Bad gave another, little smile, and set down the red cup he was drinking from. He bid himself an exit, and Puffy watched him leave, before curling up with her white coat, and falling asleep.

* * *

“It won’t be too far from now. I promise.”

Bad was on his knees, in front of the mass of Red in front of him. Suspended in the middle of it all was something hardly recognizable as a man, arms crossed over his chest, eyes open, dull, and red.

Bad knelt, like a sinner before an altar. The man--his best friend, or at least the shell of him--seemed to come to life, hardly anything more than a mouth for the beast that was controlling him. 

**"I know it won't. I am growing stronger by the day. But you have still not brought them to me."**

He sets a hand upon his chosen, surrounded by the other followers. The chamber was great, filled with masses of vines, dripping from the ceiling, gathering at their feet. Bad was comfortable here, now. It was home, with the noise of the others in his mind. Their thoughts constantly swim around him, making sure that he would never be alone.

It was only predictable that he would fall so quickly. His soul was bound with his vessel. When one was lost, so was the other.

The vessel's finges work through his hair, almost absently, experimentally. Like he wasn't sure what to do with the demon in front of him, flesh and affection entirely foreign to him. And yet, he was aware that was what his chosen wanted, so he did it, anyway. 

The vessel seemed to enjoy it, as well. The Crimson considered it a benefit on both sides--keeping its vessel at bay, and the chosen satisfied.

**"Bring them to me."** He gets on his knees, taking the chosen by the chin. **"I am hungry. You don't want me to suffer, do you?"**

The demon's eyes were focused directly on his.

"Never." He promised. "Anything, for you, Skeppy." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second prologue is over. The third is for our third main character. Then the chapters will be much longer. Please leave feedback, I would greatly appreciate it.


	3. Prologue 3 - Ranboo

_ Generally speaking, the rules of the story are written before the author publishes the work. The author plans each moment meticulously, writing each character, their roles, what they will stay, and what they will do. The main characters are decided before the story is even written, developed thoroughly, explored in each and every moment written around them. The world is fleshed-out, and the Hero completes his journey, returning home in triumph, or in loss. _

_ In Ancient times, stories were aloud, and ever-changing. The hero of one tale was the villain of the next. Iphigenia died, Iphigenia was carried away and became a priestess. But the characters would remain the same.  _

_ What, then, when someone new enters entirely? _

* * *

Diligence and hard work are the trademarks of a butler.

He was thorough, meticulous, bringing stacks upon stacks of dynamite, hauled in heavy carts that threatened to break his back wherever he walked. Entire days were spent in the deep, dark tunnels of the mines, stockpiling ingredients for enchantments, creating and boiling brews that he would fill his carts with, slaughtering entire stockyards of animals for his work.

All of this because he was the servant, and his master requested this of him. He was the sworn vassal of another, bound by word and by blood, and no matter what moral objections he may have against it, he couldn’t say no.

This was what left him working for days on end, grit in his teeth and dirt in his face, never allowing his uniform to be stained, for this was the uniform of a butler, and he should remain pristine and pure, even hard at work, even deep in the dirt and grime.

This was also how he was found by another, with a cloud of gunpowder, a pick in his hands, and constant regeneration potions in his chests. 

Behind him, another person glitched into existence. 

That was the best way to describe it--a man who simply wasn’t there before, when reality warped in on itself, twisting the very space and time around him, slowing down and distorting the space of the cave, like a glitch come to life. Where there was once air, everything was pushed aside, physics correcting itself by the gust of wind, the gunpowder blowing, and the man who stood there, pushing dirt and gunpowder out of his face, shaking himself off, and observing the scene before him.

“Ahh. I thought I would find you like this.”

There was no real answer, for a moment, as the Enderman hybrid didn’t even seem to register his existence. There was no moment of hesitation, even, as the other placed another block of dynamite, and began to light it a second time.

“Ranboo. Hey. Can you hear me?”

The Enderman hybrid came out of his trance slowly, in small stages. He blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes, adjusting himself, before he startled completely. He jumped backwards, seeming to come to the realization of where he was, noticing the sheer amount of supplies around him, and startling upon seeing the other before him.

“Karl?”

“Hey. Yeah. I thought I would find you here.”

The time traveler stuck his hands in his pockets casually, watching Ranboo come to terms with where he was, patting himself down for his memory book, and watching him beginning to flip through the pages. At last, he found the spot where he’d left off, and Karl watched him find his quill, dab it a few times on his tongue, and frantically scribble a few notes in the dark.

“Karl--where am I? How did you find me here?”

“You’re under the Badlands. About a mile below the ocean, I think. You dug under here from the ruins of L’Manberg, by the community chest. You started...about a week ago, I think? Impressive progress, actually. You have no idea how much milk you’ve been drinking.”

Ranboo blinked a couple more times, letting the information digest, and as all of it processed, he started to look vaguely sick, as the information started to settle-in, and the connections were being made. He pushed one of his long-fingered hands into his hair, half knocking-off the crown in the process.

“It was another sleepwalking incident, wasn’t it?” He bit down on his lip. “I don’t remember any of it. I don’t even remember what day it is. Was it….was it an actual week? Have I been down here for a whole week? Do Techno and Phil know I’ve been down here?”

Karl held up his hands in a placating gesture, giving a couple of shrugs in the process. “I don’t have any idea. I was just able to find you by looking for you. I don’t even remember what day it is here, either. I just found you right...here.”

Ranboo lapsed into silence himself, swallowing down the ball of anxiety in his gut. He wasn’t sure about...anything, really. He glanced up at Karl, shoulders tense.

“What are you here for, then? I...I know you didn’t just come to visit me.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I honestly wish otherwise.” He let out a low breath, and pushed his own hand through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled mop even further. “I, uh, kind of came to tell you about the fact that the world is going to probably end soon, unless you guys are able to kind of...you know. Put a stop to it.”

There was a moment of silence, as Ranboo fully digested the information, before he burst into nervous giggles, edging into slight hysteria at the ends of his laughter. Karl, on his part, stood in silence as Ranboo ran his hands over his face.

“You...you’re kidding, right? Karl, I know that the state of things here can get pretty bad, but you mean just...another war, right? You’re just trying to get me more nervous than I already am. Techno is going to find some other government out there and rain down Withers and TNT and a thousand dogs, and we’re all going to put up a memorial flag and just move on to some other, stupid, pointless conflict about music discs or endless revenge plots or...or someone accidentally killing someone else’s pet, or…”

Ranboo swallowed, his hands shaking. “It was supposed to end with Dream being put in prison. There wasn’t supposed to  _ be  _ anything after that. He was the cause of  _ all  _ the problems here. He put Tommy against everyone, he let Jschlatt into the country, he lied to everyone, and...he got put away for it! That was supposed to be the  _ end _ , Karl! What do you  _ mean  _ that the world is going to end! What  _ else  _ do we have to do?”

Karl, on his part, was completely silent while he allowed Ranboo to rant at him, working himself up to the point where the Enderman was near tears. Karl let out a breath, turning to look towards the far end of the tunnel, observing just how far Ranboo had managed to dig himself down, just how much work must have been put into this tunnel, and how long the Enderman must have been put under the trance that Dream put him under--because of course it was Dream. It was always going to be Dream.

“I don’t know.” He finally said. “I don’t remember everything when I jump through time. I’m kind of like you that way, I guess. I only remember a few things. Little details. But Ranboo--it’s all coming to an end. You have to pull everyone together. You have to stop the cycles of war.”

“Don’t you think I’ve been  _ trying _ !” Ranboo burst, getting to his feet, almost knocking his head to the ceiling as he got to his full seven feet of height. “I’ve told everyone--choose people over sides! There shouldn’t  _ be  _ any more sides! But they don’t listen--they  _ never  _ listen! They just keep...they just keep hurting each other, and fighting with each other, and I’m trying to make friends with everyone, I’m trying to make them see that they can work together, but nobody trusts each other, nobody will work together, nobody will...nobody will pick  _ everyone _ . They just keep picking one or two people, and think that will work, and it never does.”

He’d worked himself into such a state that he was shedding particles from his eyes, the closest thing to tears that the Enderman could shed. Karl’s heart twisted, and he sighed, leaning forward some to grasp the Enderman around his shoulders, squeezing him to his own chest, about the best comfort he could give to the kid--and it was easy to forget that Ranboo really  _ was  _ just a kid--old enough to be used by the adults around him, but not old enough to take control of his destiny.

Then again, pretty much everyone else could say the same thing, all things considered. Karl felt himself growing exhausted and withering at the edges. If he could have grey hairs, he was pretty sure that he would start sprouting them.

“Listen, Ranboo.” The Enderman was breathing a little heavily, verging on something approaching a panic attack, and Karl stood backwards at arm’s length, hands on the Enderman’s shoulders. “We can get out of this. I just need you to listen to me. I’ll be helping you from across time, so you’re not going to be alone. I’ll send you all of the information I have, all of the help I have, all of the hints I have. You’re not going to be alone in this. I’m going to be helping you the whole time.”

“But…” Ranboo swallowed. “Karl, I’m going to forget. Or I’m going to go into another walking fit. Or...or he’s going to get my memory book, and he’s going to see everything you’re doing to help me. How...how am I supposed to do this? If you’re not going to be here, then…”

“You have other people with you.” Karl assured, his voice steadying. “They also want to live, you know. Even beyond politics, or governments, or anarchy. Everyone in this country wants to live. Even Dream. If you all don’t work together, then there won’t be anything left to fight over.”

“But what if they don’t listen to me?” Ranboo asked weakly. “I’ve tried to warn them about sides--but they never listen.” He licked his lips anxiously. “Nikki and Fundy--they listen, but they didn’t understand what I was saying. They went off and they formed a new faction, and so did Tubbo, and so did Tommy, and everyone else. They saw what happened, and they still didn’t listen to me, even after their whole country was destroyed. It’s not going to work, Karl. They’ll hear what I have to say, and they’re going to go off and fight more pointless wars instead, and--”

“ _ Ranboo _ .”

The Enderman finally stopped, as if just saying his name strongly-enough was some sort of way to get him at attention, and Karl’s gut twisted at seeing just how broken the Enderman was, at even the smallest of things. Instead of dwelling on it, he cleared his throat. “Ranboo--I understand the severity of everything. I’m going to be helping you the whole time. You’re not going to be working at this alone. Look for me when the time comes, and I’ll do everything that I can for you. You’re not doing this alone. The adults are going to help you this time. I promise.”

Ranboo took a deep, shaking breath, and finally he looked down to meet Karl’s eyes, and he nodded.

“Alright. Alright. I believe you. I’m going to write everything down...and I’m going to tell everyone when I get out of here.” Ranboo looked around, trying to digest just where  _ ‘here’  _ was, but he gave a shaky smile, and pulled back one of his hands to give a small thumbs up to Karl, who snorted at the gesture. 

“You do that. Look for me at the end. I’m going to tell you what to do. Remember, before everything else. You’re your own person, Ranboo. You’re not anyone else’s.”

Ranboo gave a shaky smile, and with that, Karl vanished into the time stream again, leaving the Enderman to sink to his knees, and try and gather whatever pieces of himself he could find, here in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last prologue is finished. The chapters in general will be around double to triple the length of the prologues. I plan around 30-40k words at the end of this story.  
> Please review, and leave your thoughts below. I would greatly appreciate it.


	4. Chapter 1

Technoblade was a man of few words, and many actions.

It was honestly one of the things that made people fear him so much--fear and respect him, and admire him, if he was lucky--which he often wasn’t. Technoblade was a hard to understand man at the best of times, and a downright implacable and unfathomable man at the worst. Overall, Technoblade would describe himself as “pragmatic--” a man with a good head on his shoulders, a thorough understanding of threats, and the ability to sniff out danger from a mile away, and respond accordingly.

These, of course, are some of the many reasons why he was so often allied with, lied to, and betrayed. Despite the fact that he had a good sense of where danger was, and the ability to retaliate, he was still a man of loyalty and virtue, and had a terrible habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt, even when they were planning on stabbing him in the back.

Technoblade’s sense of danger, keen as it was, developed over many years of battling, led him to one of his basement levels, where he kept much of his storage. Lantern in hand, he approached something akin to a red, potted plant, taking root in his cellar, and slowly beginning to spread itself across the lower levels of the basement, infecting much of his potato storage, and many of his smaller plots of land in the process.

The usual, mindless, white noise and chatter in the back of his mind quieted for a minute in surprise, and his ear flicked, registering the destruction to his base, and the voices directed a single-minded fury at the weeds growing in his house.

Now this? This was going to be a problem.

In his heart of hearts, the piglin was a farmer, and a damn good one at that. A simple nether-demon who wanted to escape the Nether in search of a better life, he’d scraped himself up from the ranks up the piglins, getting himself the skills to handle himself in raids, and he’d battled his way out with cold precision, only to settle himself in the taigas of the Overworld, farm some potatoes, and manage some cows. 

That was all the piglin  _ really  _ wanted, and yet he kept finding himself sucked back into these situations, either by commission, or by people seeming to believe that,  _ yes _ , it’s a  _ great  _ idea to get the legendary piglin warrior involved in their schemes, _ that won’t backfire at all _ .

Rubbing one of his dextrous hooves across his tusks, Technoblade decided that he should probably get to work destroying this thing, and dunking it in lava would be a pretty easy way to do it. So, he hacked away at the roots, gathering the ball of weeds, and he carried the whole thing back up to the main bedroom of his house, beginning to search through some of his supplies for one of his enchanted buckets of never-cooling lava that he could dunk some of the leaves in.

“Techno? What are you doing over there?”

“I’m getting rid of some infestation in the basement.” Techno grunted, wrapping some of the vines around the main body of the plant, shaking his hooves as some of the spores floated, landing on his sleeves. “They’re destroying the potatoes down there, and I’m pretty sure they’re also making the animals sick. Dunking it in lava will probably work.”

Philza hummed, his roommate’s brows furrowing in thought. “Red vines? Tommy mentioned those, the last time he went to the Badlands. Apparently, they’re growing all over the place, and really messing with some of his plans to make a hotel. Infectious little buggers, I guess. Like kudzu, but worse.”

“Kudzu?” Well, shit. That was going to make the wheat harvest an absolute disaster. “You said it’s coming from the Badlands? I think I’m going to visit, then, and get all of this shit off of my farm.”

Philza laughed warmly, the down at his shoulders raising in joy. Despite the fact that his wings were shredded from his battle with Wilbur in L’Manberg, he still retained some aspects of his winged heritage. Feathers still coated his shoulders, down to his elbows, and formed a light dusting across his brow. Even so, it was still...disheartening to see that Philza couldn’t flex his wings anymore, that he would never fly again.

“I should probably head down there myself, to be honest. I promised Tommy that I would stay with him at the hotel, while he’s still working on that thing. Ranboo also went down to visit Tubbo, too, out in Snowchester. He should be arriving in the Badlands today. When you come back, can you pick Ranboo and Tubbo up, for me? They’re having dinner at home this weekend. It’s been a while since Tubbo has come to visit. Ranboo wants to come, since he’s never had dinner with such a big group before.”

_ Yeah, Techno would bet it’s been a while since they’d come to visit _ .

He made no small show of his distaste for the manner, all things considered. The betrayal by two of his friends hit particularly hard, and despite the fact that Philza insisted that they try mending the fences between Tubbo after how hard he worked on Snowchester, and that Tommy deserved a second chance at friendship after putting Dream away, Techno couldn’t help but feel that Philza was being too nice to a couple of kids who really didn’t deserve it.

Tommy used and betrayed both of them, and Tubbo was a cowardly hypocrite who tried to kill him. Techno held no love for either of them, and Phil didn’t work this hard to reach out to Fundy, who was his actual  _ grandson _ . 

Philza was a good friend, though, and Techno let out a low huff through his snout. Ranboo, at least, was a good kid. He had no objections about taking Ranboo home, as long as Tubbo kept his mouth shut, and his hands to himself.

“Yeah, sure.” He dipped one of the leaves in the bucket, and frowned when it didn’t burn, and in fact floated easily on the surface. He’d have to put this shit in a secluded chest, and kill it later. Actually, he could probably take it with him, to show the Badlands he wasn’t interested in their weeds. “I’ll take no responsibility if Tubbo pissess off Ranboo enough to kill him, though.”

“ _ Techno _ .”

“Sure. Sure. You go pick up one screaming garbage boy, I’ll pick up the other.”

* * *

Philza, despite what other people may think, wasn’t too old that he couldn’t tell what other people were thinking anymore.

He was--well, he couldn’t exactly  _ remember  _ how old he was, but he was pretty sure he was old--and that was enough to pick up on a lot of the things that people were sure they were able to hide well. Philza could pick up on the sheer terror on Ranboo’s face whenever people asked him where he’d been, or what he’d been up to, or caught him while he was sleepwalking in the middle of the night. Philza could pick up on the way that Tommy squirmed when he was placed in a room with only one door, or a room without any windows. How Tommy would laugh too loudly, too tightly, whenever someone would mention the plains, and how he would start to pick at his own shirt, tugging at the edges, catching loose threads and yanking on them. Philza could pick up on Tubbo’s headaches, his forced smiles, the way that he would jump away from people placing objects too close to him, the way that he stared at Technoblade with wide eyes whenever the other came too close to him with something as small as a butterknife.

It was why he was trying in the first place. Fundy had gone completely missing--something that soured Philza deeply. His only son was dead, and his grandson was gone. He’d tried something with his new roommate, and the kid they were looking after, but he hated leaving loose ends undone. It would make him no better than Tubbo violating his own rules in his own nation.

Philza could damn well pick up on Technoblade’s tight body language, the eyes staring straight ahead, unwilling to look at him as he clutched an iron bucket of the red plant. It wasn’t as if the other was making a special effort to hide it, anyway--it reminded Philza of a child pouting when they didn’t get their way, refusing to talk and hiding away in a corner, until it was naptime.

Philza was patient enough to deal with that, at the very least.

“Hey--hey Phil! Phil! Over here!”

Phil’s head jerked sharply to the side, seeing a figure approaching over the horizon. Ghostbur came, tumbling over a few hills, followed by a couple of cows, landing at a stop right beside Philza, who’d stalled his horse for Ghostbur’s arrival.

Ghostbur...wasn’t looking much better, at least from Philza’s perspective.

He still had that strange gradient of blue and yellow on his sweater, the stab wound right through his back and chest ever-dripping blue dye, in some poor imitation of blood. His eyes had gone yellow, with sheep-slitted pupils, and what seemed to be ram horns on the sides of his head.  _ Weird, Philza couldn’t ever remember anyone having ram horns before _ .

“Hey, Ghostbur.” A sad smile tinged his lips. The ghost was mad, obviously, and he didn’t imagine being stuck with another ghost was going to let him fare much better. Particularly one who’d been his rival in life. Even if it was a poor shadow of Wilbur, it made his heart twist low in his gut. He’d done that to Wilbur. He let Wilbur get that far in the first place. “How are you feeling? Still blue down there?” 

“Yes! Very blue. Do you want some blue?” Ghostbur was already climbing onto the back of Philza’s saddle, holding onto the older man like his life depended on it. Philza sucked in a sharp breath, but let it go. It was like dealing with a child again, and he was well-accustomed to that. He supposed he could put up with the memories for a short while.

“We’re going to the Badlands, Ghostbur. Do you want to visit Tommy and Tubbo? I know they miss you.” It wasn’t a total lie. Tommy missed who Wilbur had been, before he had gone mad, and Tubbo....strangely enough, Tubbo actually missed Schlatt. Philza couldn’t figure it out for the life of him, but he guessed that the boys grieved in strange ways. 

“Yeah! They’re my friends.” He could hear Ghostbur smiling behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tightness in Technoblade’s shoulders. They liked Ghostbur, but he was an uncomfortable reminder to everyone about who Wilbur had been before, and contact was reduced to a minimum with him.

In retrospect, that might have something to do with why Ghostbur had been so emotionally distraught over a sheep.

The trip to the Badlands was mostly in silence after that, with Ghostbur eagerly talking about the adventures he’d had in the taiga, and about how he’d fought off a few zombies with blue, despite the fact that both of them were undead. Philza’s knuckles were white the entire time.

The Badlands was a large territory overall, with a couple of biomes to its name, and as they rode up the Prime Path towards the official territory’s outside, Philza frowned when he saw the strange, red tendrils engulfing the areas of the old L’Manberg, almost completely choking the memorial flag in the middle of the crater. 

“Hey Ghostbur, you doing alright back there?” Philza asked, turning his head. The phantom, however, seemed to not even hear Philza, with his eyes instead transfixed on the ruins of the country.

“I was right.” Ghostbur finally said, a strange level of mania at the edge of his voice, a slow smile beginning to form on his face. “I was completely right.”

Philza lifted a hand, gently touching Ghostbur’s shoulder. “Hey…”

The ghost’s face distorted, briefly, into a sharp frown. “No, it was  _ your  _ fault. I brought you here because I  _ trusted  _ you, and this is what you  _ did _ !”

Ghostbur’s hand jerked out violently, almost hitting Philza, and startling the horse beneath the both of them. His face twitched, a smile and a harsh frown battling for control on his features.

“I won  _ fairly _ , by  _ democratic vote _ . You just couldn’t handle not being a fucking  _ tyrant _ , like who you wanted to  _ break from _ .”

“YOU  _ BETRAYED  _ ME, AND I  _ TRUSTED  _ YOU!”

“AND WHO TRIED TO  **_DROWN ME TWO YEARS AGO_ ** , SOOT!”

**_“WILBUR!”_ **

Philza’s voice seemed to break whatever spell the phantom had been placed under, and Ghostbur jerked sharply towards Philza’s voice, a confused look on his face.

“I’m Ghostbur, Philza. Alivebur isn’t here.”

“...yeah. Shut your eyes, Ghostbur. There’s nothing to see here but a bunch of holes.”

With Ghostbur back to himself, and Technoblade’s grip back on his horse instead of his sword, the rest of the travel to the center of the settlement passed quietly, though the group was still tense all the while.

The hotel loomed on the horizon, a huge structure with several billboards advertising the opening of Tommy’s hotel, and Phil finally found himself relaxing at the shoulders with his proper target in sight. Ghostbur seemed to also relax as they left the ruins of L’Manberg behind--something he guessed might have something to do with the distance, or at the very least, getting something else to focus on.

“Hey, guys! What are you all doing here?”

Philza blinked, looking up, and catching the unseen eyes of Badboyhalo, the de-facto ruler of the country, standing on one of the higher hills, trident in one hand. Splashing the trident in a stream, he launched himself up into the air, before he landed in front of the approaching group, a wild smile on his face.

“Coming to find you.” Techno snorted, swinging his leg over the saddle of his horse, landing with a heavy thud. “Some of your weeds have gotten into my house, and I tried burning them. Didn’t work. I want you to get your weeds under control, and get them out of my house.”

“Oh!” Bad blinked a few times, before he frowned, tapping his fingers on the trident. “You’re probably going to have to ask Captain Puffy about that, to be honest, I don’t really know much. She’s been the one dealing with the vines while they crop up. I’ve been busy with some of the land here being sold to Tommy, for his hotel, and trying to manage that deal while working with Sam on the ownership of the prison. Here, I’ll take you to her!”

Techno grunted in annoyance, but Bad didn’t even seem to notice, instead turning around and walking away, chattering about how he was working with Eret to cut a deal for prison ownership from the Greater Dream SMP, since the Badlands were the ones running and managing it, and the creation of the prison was penned under a leader who was now without any legal property. 

In all honesty, Philza was already tuning Bad out the second he started talking about property ownership. Ghostbur, however, seemed utterly  _ absorbed _ , and sidled himself up next to Bad to talk about some legal loopholes Bad could exploit to argue his case, and the nether-demon clapped excitedly at some of the points, while Ghostbur, with a sleazy expression, started trying to work his way into owning a share of the prison himself, as a legal counsel.

This was why Philza was an anarchist. He couldn’t  _ stand  _ red tape. Not to mention the fact that he was almost certain which of the boys was fronting Ghostbur at the moment, and it  _ certainly  _ wasn’t the sweet boy obsessed with blue dye. 

At the very least, it gave him a small window into who Schlatt had been before he died. Something Philza hadn’t seen for at least a couple of years.

“And here’s where we part ways!” Bad declared as they came upon Tommy’s hotel, hands spread wide. “Puffy is probably going to be around Church Prime, since that’s where most people take the vines. I’m going to go up and see how Tommy and the hotel are doing. See you guys later!”

“Actually, I’m coming here to pick up Tommy myself.” Philza cut-in, getting another wide smile from Bad. “It’s been a long time since we talked, and I thought it would be a good idea to work things out, and bring Tubbo along. Ranboo’s friends with them both, so I think it would be a good idea all around.”

“Awesome! I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” Bad gushed, while Techno snorted, turning his horse. Ghostbur switched horses as well, riding on the back with Techno, who seemed to be doing his very best to ignore him. Philza waved goodbye to the two of them, and while Techno and Ghostbur set off down the opposite path, Bad cheerfully introduced Philza to someone who Phil could only  _ assume  _ was Awesamdude, but wearing a yellow cardigan.

“Since when did Sam dress like that?” Phil asked, raising his eyebrows, and Bad laughed, while the iron-golem-in-disguise turned to Phil, and emitted a strange series of beeps, and Bad patted him on the shoulder.

“We’ll be back with some more scaffolding for you soon, buddy.” Bad turned to Phil. “It’s an iron golem Sam made, so that he could work on the hotel, and also keep working on his latest redstone project. Isn’t it neat? You kind of have to get used to how he talks, though. It’s pretty weird, but you get used to it.”

Phil blinked, but he left it as it was, instead following Bad while the nether-demon led them past Sam, and the two of them started to take the elevator up towards one of the top floors--the very top floor, in fact--which Bad said was where Tommy was currently working on building some of the more expensive rooms.

“I heard things went pretty bad between you and Tommy and Tubbo, actually.” Bad hummed. “Tommy said that you kicked him out and burned down the country he was a part of, and Tubbo said that you weren’t ever going to forgive him, after the whole Butcher Army thing. I mean, I don’t blame you! I’d be  _ furious  _ if anyone ever tried to go after my best friend. It’s just pretty nice of you to come back here, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Philza felt weary, leaning against the elevator wall. “But Wilbur treated Tommy like some kind of kid brother. In the end, Tommy was pretty much the only person that Wilbur trusted, and Tubbo tried his best to lead a new country, even after the old one was destroyed. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any regrets about what happened to L’Manberg. It all needed to go. I just don’t want...everyone that Wilbur cared about to be left high and dry. Especially not after how I haven’t been able to contact Fundy at all. He tore down his house and just...vanished. I wanted to wait for Fundy to make the first move, and then talk to the other gremlins, but...if Fundy is just going to disappear, I don’t want to lose my chance to make it up to Wilbur’s friends with the other two.”

Bad nodded sympathetically. “That’s hard. Sapnap and I haven’t been in much contact lately, either, but Dream and I didn’t have much conflict in the first place. I can’t imagine what it must be like, what you went through. Sapnap kind of came to me after Dream betrayed them all, but...he’s been dealing with it in his own way, you know? Trying to strike it out on his own, after Eret gave him his own land to work on. Sort of like how Tubbo dealt with things, I guess. Making something new after everything else you knew burned around you.” 

“Yeah. Much better than the alternative.” The words tasted bitter in Philza’s tongue, as he remembered Wilbur, standing in the dark. “Better than destroying everything around you.”

“Exactly.” Bad smiled. “There’s always going to be something left to build, and relationships to mend. You should never give up on someone or something that you really care about. You’re a tough guy, Philza. Hardcore, even! If you want to do something, there are people out there willing to help you, not just the people you already know, but others, too! I have a lot of friends who would be happy to help, and you can always come to me for support. You’re a good friend, even if we don’t talk a lot.”

Philza, somewhat warmed by the affirming words, reflected on them for a while. It wasn’t often that he heard outright encouragement--he often had to be the one to do the encouraging to Ranboo, or otherwise work on his own with Technoblade around. 

“Yeah, thanks.” The elevator came to a stop, and Philza was left standing on the balcony of the hotel, just as night was starting to fall. Bad walked up to stand beside him, and Phil looked around for the blonde raccoon, seeing nobody in sight. “Where’s Tommy?”

“Hmm, he might have gone to grab some more of those scaffolds. He’ll probably be back in just a minute.” Bad said, rubbing his chin in thought. “Actually, do you mind if I ask a weird question? And let me know if this is something too personal, okay? You don’t have to answer.”

Philza frowned a little, fearing that it was probably going to be something personal or uncomfortable, and he shifted some away from Bad, while the other stood on the edge of the balcony beside him. “Well, alright. Go ahead.” 

“That cape you wear--the, uhh, green coat one? After the war against Pogtopia, and I was helping Tommy with some of the L’Manberg reconstruction, he mentioned that you used to have wings. Do you...still have them?”

Philza flinched under the question, turning away from Bad. “Yeah. And no, I can’t fly with them. They were shredded. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bad fell silent again, and he put a hand on Philza’s shoulder. Philza flinched away from the touch. 

“Do you want to hold my trident? You know, so you can fly again?” Bad asked. Philza snorted.

“Nah. I have my own. I gave it to Ranboo, because the kid needs it more than I do.”

“Okay.”

Another moment of silence passed, and Philza spotted Antfrost down below, taking care of a few creepers with a bow. Philza stood up.

“I’m going to look for Tommy, alright?”

“Alright.”

And that was when a sudden, sharp pain shot through Philza, right in the center of his chest.

Philza jerked, spinning around, and seeing Bad impaling the hardcore survivalist with his trident, the prongs of the weapon going straight through his front. Bad jerked, suddenly, ripping the trident back, shoving Philza with one of his legs right over the side of the balcony, and towards the ground of the hotel below.

_ Oh.  _ That’s  _ why he asked about my wings. _

Philza, however, despite not being able to fly, grabbed his crossbow, and began loading it with bolts, intending to fire back at Bad. While he tumbled to the ground below, several more sharp pains started hitting his waist, arrowheads lodging themselves in his back, his chest, his arms and legs.

_ Antfrost. They were in on it _ .

The bolts were enchanted, he realized, and perhaps too late, as weakness flooded his body, the same moment as the pain did. His hands went lax, and he saw Ant coming towards him, while Bad used Phil’s own blood as the liquid he needed to jump to the bottom of the hotel.

The two of them closing in on him were the last things he saw, before everything went black.

* * *

Technoblade didn’t like to think that he was someone who exaggerates a lot. In fact, he was pretty sure he was the most down-to-earth, realistic, relatable guy that he knew--and that also wasn’t an exaggeration. He very,  _ very  _ well meant this fact.

Yet, despite all of that, he was pretty sure that this was one of the worst days of his life. 

It didn’t take too long for Technoblade to locate Ranboo, with the Enderman being absolutely  _ enormous _ , easily towering over half of the landscape they passed. Ranboo, as soon as he spotted Techno, immediately started running for him, which Technoblade was pretty fine with, if he were being honest.

What he  _ wasn’t  _ fine with were the two kids that followed. 

Tubbo seemed to have stuck himself like some kind of bur to Ranboo, clinging to the Enderman’s hands, struggling to run alongside him and keep up with his long legs. Tommy, on the other hand, followed at a slower pace, sticking his hands in his pockets and refusing to look towards the piglin approaching them.

“Technoblade! Hey, Technoblade!” Tubbo called, pausing to cup his hands around his mouth, seeming to believe that nothing had passed between them, like they were still the best of friends. “It’s been ages! How are you doing? Are you and Phil doing well?”

Techno stopped in his riding, allowing Tommy and Tubbo to catch up with him, and he could feel Ghostbur shifting behind him, swinging his legs over the saddle, brushing himself off as his feet hit the ground. Tommy perked slightly at the appearance of the ghost, walking up slower, and pausing before the two of them.

“Hey, Ghostbur.” Tommy said, waving. “Good to see you, too. What are you guys doing here? Haven’t seen the two of you since...you know. The end of everything.”

“Well, you’ve seen me.” Techno pointed out. “And you sent me a letter about your hotel opening.”

“Oh, you know. Getting supplies for the fight against Dream doesn’t really count.”

“Stealing. You stole from me, Tommy.”

“You let me go, that’s kind of like a gift.”

“It was still stealing, Tommy. You tried to take my compass, too.”

“Semantics, semantics. Water under the bridge, Blade.”

“Hey!” Ghostbur suddenly jumped-in, startling both out of their argument. “You haven’t come to visit me either, Tommy! I didn’t even get a letter about your hotel! What happened? Did you forget I was around?”

“No, no! Ghostbur, I was just busy working on it, and you also seemed busy.” Tommy, at the very least, seemed genuinely guilty about it, and Ghostbur seemed to accept the answer easily enough, instead smiling as he wrapped both of his arms around the kid, picking him up off the ground in a hug.

“Good! I wouldn’t want you forgetting about me! Did you hear? Techno isn’t alone about the voices in his head, anymore! So do I!”

Tommy laughed a little nervously, and Tubbo looked away from the reunion. “Yeah, I heard, Ghostbur. Well, uh, good to see you both. Better get going back to the hotel.”

“No, no. Phil wants you to come back to the Syndicate, so he can talk to you both. Ranboo, too.”

“What?” Ranboo asked. “What--why me?”

“Something about mending bridges or whatever. I don’t really care. You’ll have to follow on foot. I only have enough room for Ranboo.”

Tommy swore quietly about the clear favoritism, while Ghostbur seemed excited about stretching his legs. Ranboo flushed as he started to mount the saddle, before he stopped suddenly.

“Look out!”

Ranboo lunged forward, suddenly, grabbing Tommy around the waist, and tackling the other to the ground. An arrow whizzed by, moments later, and Tommy gasped as the arrow dug into the ground, mere feet from him.

“Hold it!” A voice called, and the small group looked up to see Captain Puffy, standing by the gate of Church Prime. “Techno, Ranboo! Both of you are free to go! Tubbo and Tommyinnit have to come with me!”

“Puffy?” That, at least, was someone he was looking for--but Techno was a little troubled by the sudden arrest happening under his nose. “Puffy, I was looking for you. What do you know about those red weeds?”

“Those red weeds are Blood Vines, and they’re infectious. They belong to the Egg under the Badlands, and it’s an incredibly dangerous thing that infects people and controls them into doing what it says. Those two were put into close contact with the Egg, and didn’t bathe in Church Prime water. I have to get them to the Church, before they start infecting other people.”

“Alright, alright! We’re going! You didn’t have to shoot us!” Tommy complained, getting upright. Puffy approached, seemingly satisfied, while Techno turned over the information in his mind.

“They’re some kind of infectious plant, you say?” He asked. “You know those things have been crawling all over the server, right? You know where that stuff has been coming from?”

Puffy sighed, running her hand through her wool. “It appeared below the town, and it got a couple of us. Bad, Antfrost, and Skeppy. It even turned Skeppy red, after he was trapped with it for a day. They started talking about some kind of Empire, but when I tricked Bad into bathing in the Prime water with Skeppy, throwing a huge bucket on him during his rant about how good it would be for the country, it snapped them out of it. I threw a bunch of the water on top of the Egg, and put it all up in obsidian, but it seems to still be getting out. I don’t know, Techno. Bad and everyone else seems pretty normal, but it’s still getting everywhere....hey! You two! Be careful! Don’t mess up the portraits in the church!”

Puffy fussed, riding ahead while Tommy and Tubbo started spinning some of the paintings in their frames, and Techno’s frown deepened. An Empire that some mind controlling plant made, and that plant spreading everywhere? 

He could already hear some of the voices, whispering in the back of his head. A familiar kind of tightness settled in his chest, and he gripped the reins tighter. The hushed whispers, a constant presence, kicked back up again at the Empire mention. A different kind of hushed whisper to the one that had been ever-present since the moment he had made it into the Badlands. 

Puffy shoved Tommy into the waterfall first, completely soaking the kid, who screeched in shock at the cold, and started to complain to Tubbo. Tubbo followed suit, shaking himself off eagerly, grinning in exhilaration at the cold. 

Techno caught Ghostbur staring at Tubbo, a strange look in his eyes, and a pinched frown. The yellow of his new, horizontal pupils seemed darker than before, and Techno disregarded it--frankly, he didn’t care. It wasn’t his business, even when he spotted Ghostbur’s lips moving.

_ ‘It’s not even real. We were never family to begin with. None of this is real.’ _

Whatever. Standard voices in his head, as far as Techno was concerned. Which he wasn’t. It wasn’t his business.

What  _ was  _ his business was the Egg.

“So, where is this thing, anyway?” He asked Puffy, who was currently in the middle of handing Tommy and Tubbo towels, so they could dry themselves off. Puffy frowned.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, and you shouldn’t try it. Exposing it to the air is going to mess you up. It’s best left under obsidian. Even people who hate it still love it when they’re exposed. We’re trying to find some way to destroy it, but it’s going to take some time. I can send you off with Prime water, to take care of the ones in your house. But trust me. We’re taking care of it.”

Techno snorted. “It doesn’t seem like you’re doing a great job.”

Puffy bristled at that. “You weren’t even  _ aware  _ of it until I told you. You don’t know anything about the situation. We’ve been dealing with it. That means it’s been  _ contained _ .”

“It got to my  _ house _ , Puffy. That makes it my business.”

“And I’m telling you how to deal with it. Go back home, and we’ll take care of the main part, here.”

Techno huffed again in derision, while Puffy sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s a bit stressful for everyone. But I promise. Everything is under control.”

“Right.” 

Techno had already decided he was going to quarantine the whole place, and blast it to the ground. People who wanted to make Empires weren’t so easily swayed by some obsidian. Alien eggs weren’t just some sort of infection that could be left alone. Gathering Tubbo, Tommy, and Ranboo, he started to make his way back to the Syndicate, to start a plan.

Strangely, he seemed to miss Philza. The man could take care of himself, however, and Techno trusted he would be home soon.

* * *

Philza awoke in darkness.

He was sitting at a table, something light and open, and Wilbur was sitting on the other side, eating some cereal. The boy was around eight years old again, and Philza blinked, realizing that he was probably in some kind of dream.

He had those often, when he’d first killed Wilbur. Dreams that the death had just been a nightmare, and Wilbur was going to come home soon. Dreams that his wings still worked, and weren’t withered from the battle. Dreams that Wilbur would come back to his senses as a ghost, and would remember Philza. Dreams that everything was okay.

He’d lost track of the time he’d been in the dark. Everything was hazy. Even his own body seemed hazy, blurred at the edges. It felt as if every inch of his body was melting, even his own mind. Especially his own mind.

The things that flitted through his skull felt like flies, scratching at his bones. He was hunched forward in the tiny space, forehead resting against the stone. His eyes were half-lidded, and he was sure he had come in and out of dreams so many times that he couldn’t tell if it was day or night anymore. All he could remember was the white noise in his head, the pressure behind his skull, and the fact that there was someone with him. 

He was pretty sure he was named Phil. That, at least, he could recall. He could remember that he had a son named Wilbur, and a grandson named Fundy. Those were true facts. He couldn’t remember anything else, anymore. When he did, they didn’t seem important, and he let them fall away, floating like leaves down a river, like water off of a duck. No other names seemed as important as Wilbur’s. No other fact seemed as important as the fact that he had wings.

It was a week before he was let out. A week of silence, in that prison. When Philza hit the ground, he was wet like a baby bird, and he didn’t bother moving, until his chin was taken by the hands of the diamond golem, and he was made to look the very incarnation of the Crimson Egg in the eyes.

**“You know the secrets of the most powerful man in the server. You know that was why we targeted you.”** The words were stated matter-of-factly, and Philza couldn’t disagree, not when he couldn’t even remember the name of the person he was talking to.  **“I can give you your wings back, and I can bring back your son. Everything you’ve ever wanted. All you have to do is tell me about his storage, and everything you’ve ever desired is yours.”**

“My wings?” Philza asked, somewhat dazed. He could remember flying. He could remember the open skies, blue and glorious. “My son?”

He’d sheltered Wilbur in those wings, holding him close to his chest. Wilbur had always wanted to fly, and Philza promised one day that he would let him. 

He never did.

He swallowed.

“Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Tubbo aren't Phil's adopted kids, because Philza has made it very clear his only son is Wilbur. Same with Techno, who says he isn't part of Phil's family.
> 
> Fanon vs Canon is being explored with Ghostbur, though. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Please comment and leave feedback below. I greatly appreciate it.


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